Inventor’s Help Line Feedback

By: Joseph O'Brien

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Double-Decker Minivan

As you pointed out, this may be a sure sell in England, but we’re afraid the resulting lawsuits would drain away any potential profits. Regular (single-decker) minivans already have a high tipping potential. The double-decker would be a top-heavy death machine, liable to blow over at the smallest gust. We’d see them rolling like tumbleweed down our highways and byways.

Sausage-Link Fence

Any purpose the fence aims to serve would be undermined by the fact that it is made of sausage links. For instance, your dog would no doubt eat his way to
freedom and neighboring dogs would eat their way in. Also, in the summer months, the aroma of sausage baking in the hot sun would likely attract buzzards. One solution would be to shellac each individual link, which would preserve the sausage and make it inedible. Another solution would be to ditch the idea altogether, which is what we recommend.

Edwardian Beachwear Line

The sunglasses versions of the monocle and pince-nez are well-designed updates on old accessories, and the flip-flop spats seem functional enough, but we
suspect that even the most discriminating individuals abandon such formalities when it comes to a day at the beach. The appeal of such a line is simply too narrow, even for a specialty catalog item, as you suggest.

Cigar-Store Cowboy

You’re being overly optimistic in thinking that any tobacconist with a wooden Indian in their shop would automatically want a wooden cowboy as a companion piece. In fact, you’re mistaken. Native Americans introduced tobacco to
Europeans, which explains the Indian’s inherent connection to cigar stores. The cowboy, on the other hand, is connected to the Indian via gunplay and bow-and-arrow battles. The presence of both a cowboy and an Indian in the same store would create a friction that would be bad for business.

Small Yellow Gift Boxes, Wrapped With A Red Ribbon, That Explode When Opened

It’s true that kids who grew up enjoying the shenanigans of Jokey Smurf would very likely be interested in this toy. But we’ve got to think of the victims rendered limbless by the young pranksters using your invention. Just because it’s funny in a cartoon doesn’t necessarily mean that it would be funny in real life. We know that you have a lot riding on this idea and that you expect to see yourself “laughing all the way to the bank” once it hits the market. But, as an aspiring inventor, it is well to remember not to put all of your eggs in one basket (or one yellow gift box), because you never know when it’s all going to blow up in your face.

Unanswered Missed Connections

By: Ryan Kennedy

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Cook County Prison Complex. You: muscular, facial scars, double homicide in cell 203. Me: tall, ponytail, double homicide in cell 223. Maybe we can bench-press together. Send me a sign.

Marie Model 103-P, you were our robotic maid for two years. I fell in love with your artificial intelligence and stainless-steel hips. My wife recently left me. Maybe we can meet for dinner. Activate your sweet vocal processors and call me.

Chicago Public High School. You: skinny, nerdy, locked inside your locker by one of our stronger classmates. I watched you adapt to your new environment by settling down, starting a family of your own, and declaring yourself “mayor of Lockerville.” When you get out of the locker, call me for a soda pop.

Looking for someone to watch television with. Just lost my cable and I would really like to watch my shows at your place. Really don’t want to talk, just watch. Prefer ER, Matlock, The Real World, BattleBots, and anything with Gallagher. Call me.

Irving and Ravenswood. We were lurking in the shadows. You: a young flesh-eating zombie with minimal muscle atrophy and most of your limbs intact. You offered me a bite of warm brain. I accepted and couldn’t ask your name with a mouthful of frontal lobe. Please call me and we’ll talk over some coffee?

Pinebrook’s Annual Thanksgiving Orgy. You: shy, blond, and wearing a strap-on. Me: submissive, Slayer tattoo, and wearing a green ball gag. Wish I could have said hi.

You were the girl in the red dress at the ER with the massive head wound. Sorry your prom date turned out to be a total dork. Would love to meet again. Hope recovery was quick.

We met at the 2004 Final Fantasy Convention. You were dressed like Yuna from Final Fantasy X. I said, “I like your Yuna costume from FFX-2,” and you immediately corrected me. I was too ashamed to ask for your number. Call me. I will boost your stamina and health.

We were feeding on decaying organic matter. You: the gorgeous maggot in the orange tabby’s left eyeball. Me: the maggot in the other eyeball. I peered across the golden bridge of that feline’s nose and our eyes met. Too stunned to say anything. Should have asked you to catch a bite of decaying organic matter.

The dude with the monocle at the Empty Bottle show last weekend. Seriously, call me.

Last Saturday, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You: blond, high heels, loop earrings, seventh thumbnail from the bottom on Skank-Wank.com. I have a good feeling about our future. I’m thinking three children and a dog?

Um, maybe a few weeks ago on, uh, Michigan Avenue around, say, rush hour. You were, hmm, looking very beautiful and with some, uh, friends — or maybe not? Me: stunning muscleman wearing something expensive — definitely not creepy-looking. Please call me. I’m lonely. Anyone, please call. Really, I mean it. Anyone?

Two weeks from today at Clark and Addison you will be wearing a green hat and eating ice cream. Me: a time traveler wearing a tuxedo. You will say hello, but I will be too nervous to respond. Please do not think that I am being a jerk. No matter how many times I travel back to that moment, I still get it wrong. Next time please ask for my number.

Shot List for Britney Spears’s Next Music Video: Sacrifice (For My Fans)

By: Timothy Cooper

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Set: Middle Eastern–looking desert with nearby oasis and lots of palm trees.

Intro

0:00–0:04 Fade in; we see Britney from the back, being born in a manger. (Note: Make sure this is hot but still tasteful.)

0:05–0:07 Introduce main characters (all played by Britney in different wigs), including: tabloid-vilified Britney; tragically-distant Britney; introspective-and-surprisingly-well-read Britney; never-had-a-childhood Britney; only-wants-someone-to-love-her Britney; and just-once-I’d-like-to-go-out-and-buy-a-Caramel-Macchiato-at-Starbucks-without-anyone-noticing-like-any-other-normal-person Britney.

0:08–0:10 Establishing shot of booty-shaking next to the oasis.

0:11–0:13 Giant crowd chasing Britney as she tries to go about a normal day of shopping.

0:14–0:20 Energetic booty-shaking segueing into near-maniacal booty-shaking.

0:21–0:25 Booty-shaking while clad only in a thin layer of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese sauce. (Note: See if we can secure product placement compensation here.)

0:26–0:28 Britney collapses from extensive booty shaking.

Verse

0:29–0:31 EMTs rush Britney to hospital, where she’s given an IV.

0:32–0:35 Britney undergoes cardiac arrest and flatlines after enthusiastic fans raid the hospital and steal her IV bag to sell on eBay.

0:36–0:39 Optional shot of doctors doing that gross electrocution thing to Britney’s ample chest with those paddle things.

Hook

0:40–0:42 Britney’s soul rises above her body. (Note: Make sure this is synched with the hook.)

0:43–0:45 Fans weep at her bedside.

Chorus

0:46–1:00 Britney’s funeral; over 1 billion people in attendance (Note: Might need to use CGI for this one unless we can get a lot of extras).

1:01–1:05 Britney’s body is interred at Arlington National Cemetery. (Note: Check on this — it might only be for soldiers and stuff. May have to add backstory to make it more obvious that Britney died serving her country.)

1:06–1:10 Britney’s tombstone is stolen and sold on eBay.

1:11–1:12 Three days pass; darkness descends upon the world and national production slows to a halt. (Note: Crow could be used to demonstrate country’s collective pain and landscape’s desolation.)

Verse

1:13–1:20 Britney rises from dead in burst of heavenly light. (Note: Could be controversial; prepare alternate clip of her in nun’s habit just in case.)

1:21–1:49 Bird’s-eye view of Britney lifting her eyes on high and reliving her life in flashback, thinking what she would have done differently.

Bridge

Note: The next four shots should be filmed in black-and-white to denote seriousness.

1:50–1:55 Britney takes singing lessons and a music theory course. (Note: Is there such a thing as fast-motion? If so, film this in that.)

1:56–1:59 Britney goes back to school and studies the classics. (Note: Definitely Ovid, Thucydides, Aristotle, Tacitus, and Herodotus, plus maybe a few Christian writers of late antiquity if we have room.) Time slows down.

2:00–2:00 Britney teaches illiterate children in Mozambique to read; time stands still.

2:01–1:50 Britney focuses on something other than herself; time moves backwards.

Rap Break

1:51–2:10 Cameo/rap duet by William Hung and Chingy, featuring quick shots of “bling,” “ho’s,” “biotches,” “ice,” “gats,” “Cristal,” “crack cocaine,” and whatever else the kids are into these days.

Hook

2:11–2:21 Long tracking shot of Britney crucified on the cross of the intersection of the public’s expectations (vertical beam) and her intensely private persona (horizontal beam).

2:22–2:30 Matrix-style revolving shot of Britney pleading for forgiveness for being super-hot.

2:31–2:40 Britney plays compassionately with those really skinny children with big bellies you see on infomercials sometimes.

Chorus

2:41–2:48 Dance interlude involving “hot” shepherds.

2:49–2:55 Britney logs onto Friendster; sees she has no new messages.

2:56–3:02 In a cleansing shower of righteousness, Britney repents for her success, clad only in a strategically fitted Middle Eastern–style bikini.

3:03–3:04 Quick cuts of Britney saving humanity from threat of Mutually Assured Destruction; encouraging self-esteem among girls ages 13–25; joining Outward Bound; brokering an Israeli-Palestinian peace accord that works; smoothly handing over Iraqi control; inventing an efficient desalination process for third-world populations; breaking ground on the new Britney Spears Johns Hopkins AIDS Research Institute; penning a Pulitzer Prize–winning picture-book “prequel” to Anna Karenina called Santa Anna Karenina; and getting married to someone who’s never heard of her.

Closing

3:05–3:07 Britney wakes up; realizes it was all a dream; smiles contentedly.

3:08–3:10 Snap zoom-out to see she’s actually trapped inside a TV, a victim of her own success. (Note: This is ironic.)

3:10–end (3:15) The TV is stolen by her fans and sold on eBay; fade out.

If I Only Had A Brain

By: Rolf Luchs

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Yeah, I’m a brain surgeon. Go ahead, laugh — laugh, you human jackal!
Everyone else does. Sure, I dive through people’s think tanks. Why not? It’s a living. So maybe it’s not the world’s most respectable occupation. Maybe I never get invited to the best parties. Who cares? I’m not missing much, if the ones I go to are any guide.

Just the other day I was at a party, sucking a bottle of single-malt whisky and minding my own business, when some goon asked me what I did. I could’ve said anything — garbage man, malpractice lawyer, male prostitute — any lie would’ve been OK. But oh no, that would’ve been too easy. A stray streak of honesty was lurking in my alcoholic haze, like a mugger in a dark alley.

“Brain surgeon,” I said quietly, so only that one idiot would hear. But he broke out in a belly laugh that drew everyone’s attention. Naturally he had to bray to them about it, and they all hooted as if it were the funniest thing since World War II. I just sat there, wearing a good-humored expression and wishing it weren’t so far to the .45 in my glove compartment.

As always, some sadist stepped out of the crowd, pointed to his head and said, “Hey, old man, I don’t want to put you to any trouble, but I’ve got this terrible headache just here …” Of course I knew what was coming. I suppose at that point I should’ve throttled him, or jumped through the
window, or faked a heart attack. But I never do. The fatalist in me makes me wait until it’s too late. The next thing I know, a table is cleared off, my
patient is lying there, and a crowd has gathered to gawk. It’s no good
trying to refuse: “Aw c’mon, don’t be a spoilsport!” they jeer.

Let me tell you, it’s no holiday in Waikiki to perform brain surgery, even in a modern and fully equipped hospital with the best professional help available. But it’s a whole new ballgame to do it in someone’s dim,
smoke-filled living room, with drunken forklift drivers and secretaries as
your assistants, and standard household items the only surgical instruments at hand.

How, for instance, do you remove a chunk of skull in those conditions? Unless your host happens to have a precision tungsten high-speed circular saw lying around, you have to improvise. You might need to use a rusty hacksaw, or a hammer and chisel (to crack the cranium open like a walnut), or to just pick up an ax and chop away like a lumberjack. It’s a tricky business, however you do it.

Once inside, though, it’s clearer sailing: you simply remove the unwanted gray matter with an ice-cream scoop and fill the empty space with champagne corks or old newspapers. OK, sometimes I’ll get carried away and take out a little bit too much, maybe even from spite. I’ve never noticed that it makes a big difference. Anyway, no one’s thought to complain yet.

Afterward you probably have to reattach the missing piece of skull, unless you can somehow distract everyone’s attention and just cover the hole with a baseball cap. But if I’m really set on doing a good job, I try to avoid superglue, which doesn’t hold that well on bone. I find that a couple of finishing nails usually work a treat, or else good old duct tape.

Sounds peachy, right? Not so hard? Wrong. Because everyone, it seems, always wants to join in the fun. Rarely will I perform fewer than a dozen such impromptu operations in a single alcohol-fueled evening. Why, some people enjoy it so much they even stand in line twice (if they can still stand). No matter how tired and drunk I am they keep coming at me, tittering and taunting and insisting that I do just one more.

I guess I’ve said enough. Though I try to see the bright side of my occupation, I can’t help looking back bitterly on all those wasted years at
medical school. How could I have been such a fool? Well, maybe the sordid story of my life can serve as an example for others to avoid. As for me, my bed was made long ago — now I have to lie in it. While wearing a facemask pumping general anesthetic, if possible.

Halloween Costumes You Should Start Working On Now To Be Ready By Next Halloween

By: Matt Weir

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Zombie Mountain


1. Buy a large amount of various cheeses. Make sure that you have not heard of at least six of them.

2. Sculpt mountain out of these cheeses (use Cheez Whiz as adhesive).

3. Hollow out inside.

4. Cut out eyeholes.

5. Leave in yard until use on Halloween.

Flammable San Francisco


1. Take an aerial photograph of San Francisco. (Note: Due to the size of San Francisco, you may have to take several pictures and painstakingly match them up to create the full city.)

2. Figure out a suitable scale size for all buildings, roads, parks, cars, men, parking meters, women, trees, benches, puddles and sidewalk cracks.

3. Buy toothpicks and glue stick.

4. Build city using materials purchased in step 3.

5. Attach city to giant apparatus that you will be able to wear.

6. Buy lighter and gasoline.

7. At party, when asked what you are, answer by yelling, “Flammable San Francisco!” and then use materials purchased in step 6 to demonstrate your flammability.

8. Build one Flammable San Francisco costume for every person you feel will ask you what you are supposed to be. Use graphing calculators and standard deviation formulas to do this (show work on loose-leaf paper).

9. After estimating this number, contact Ryder and reserve truck for storage/transportation of costumes next October 31st.

Beard Pants


1. Begin growing beard. (Note: If you’re a woman, begin taking male hormone pills now and make this a “Halloween After The Next Halloween” project.)

2. Stretch beard daily using an angry dog’s mouth.

3. Lose friends and loved ones as they begin to abandon you and your new “friend.” Accuse them of caring only about appearances, even though in reality you know you’ve changed on the inside too. You know that you’re a different person and that you’ll never be the same. Weep into beard. Try to force back tears but then just give up and let them pour out. Ring out beard later. (Note: Do not drink beard juice — unless you want to be a creep, in which case, be my guest, weirdo.)

4. Lovingly craft a pair of pants out of beard while keeping it attached to your face (do not forget those little rivet things near the pockets and stuff).

5. On the big night, remember to travel to party through back roads and alleys to avoid being arrested by police officers. (Note: Abandon Beard Pants costume at any time if hairy pants become a popular trend.)

Drunkest Person Ever


1. Start now.

2. Chug!

3. Don’t be a wimp, wimp.

4. Repeat steps 2 and 3 until Halloween or your death, whichever comes first. (Note: If it’s the latter, instead of Drunkest Person Ever, your costume is now Worm Town.)

“The Swan” Episode 4

By: Winter Miller

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The doors of the mansion open and in strolls host Ana Recxique. Tonight one woman will make the journey before your eyes from unbearably average to drop-dead gorgeous to be crowned “The Swan.”

Meet the contestant. D’Andrea Milton is a florist from Springfield,
Massachusetts. Deenie would love to look in the mirror and be happy. That dream was far from her experience growing up. She remembers a time in middle school when she was spit on by her peers. Fortunately, Deenie has a boyfriend who loves her for who she is but believes their relationship could be better if she were softer and more graceful. Deenie doesn’t want to feel sorry for herself. She wants to become a Swan.

Enter the experts. Their goal is to transform ugly ducklings into beautiful swans. They’ve got their work cut out!

The panel agrees, Deenie’s got potential. A nip here, a tuck there! Deenie will receive complimentary: chin and legs liposuction, hand amputation, collagen, feather extensions, wing augmentation, Lasik eye surgery, bleaching, brow removal, nose and mouth reconfiguration, beak and webbed-feet formation, tummy tuck and a stomach staple.

As she is escorted to makeover mansion, Deenie makes her first discovery: not only will she be cut off from family and friends, but there are no mirrors.

Let’s meet Deenie’s surgeon, Dr. Ivantew Kelyu. His patented neck extender won the Surgical Prize in 1994 and again in 1996. He has written articles for YM, Yankee Fisherman, and American Cowboy. Deenie’s major liposuction is par for the course, but Dr. Kelyu says, “Creating wingspan is going to be a truly
awesome experience.”

After catching the late-night movie, Marathon Man, Deenie is all nerves over her visit to her reconstructive dentist, Tina Schellbern. But Dr. Schellbern is a real softy. When not making people smile, she goes for walks with her girlfriend Maia and their three dachshunds. Dr. Schellbern admits Deenie will be her first beak. “This seemed like a real challenge, and I thrive under pressure, especially televised pressure. Also, this will be a milestone for the gay community: the first time a lesbian performs beak construction in the U.S.” After surgery, Deenie cries out, possibly in pain, but no one understands her.

Up next is a visit to Dr. Vish Inless, renowned laser-eye-surgery specialist. Deenie’s baby blues will be replaced with small jet-black eyes and her peripheral vision will be reduced. Dr. Inless hails from Johns Hopkins, where he earned three degrees, each more advanced than the former. He is the go-to guy for the Bette Davis Eyez procedure. He has performed surgery live on Regis and Kelly, Montel, and the 2002 PBS telethon.

Deenie comes through just fine, and when the bandages are removed, her eyes are coal-black and her five-foot-six frame is nearly one third the size. But how will Deenie keep the pounds off? Deenie, welcome TaHeill.

Malcolm TaHeill is a fitness guru who has trained CEOs of failed Fortune 500 companies. Known for his bestseller You: Only Less!, Malcolm’s CD of romantic fitness songs, Just Do It: for Love, hits QVC in June. Malcolm’s primary focus is to build wingspan.

Enter nutritionist Debbie Ornadahby. Through a feeding tube, Debbie introduces Deenie to her new diet: arrowhead, pondweeds, sedges, cattail, duckweed, and — an extra treat — water moss. Debbie’s approach is no-nonsense: “If she wants to live to thirty-two, knowing which roots and stems are right for her is essential.”

At last Deenie’s jaw is healed; she is ready for speech therapy with Anuncia Talowdenclehr, of the Academy of Dramatic Arts. She instructs Deenie on maximizing her double-looped windpipe for a deeper call. Deenie takes to it like a pro, and everyone is inspired by her dedication and motivation. Soon she will have a lovely, sonorous cry!

Now it’s time to evaluate Deenie’s mental health. Annette Ifufall is a life coach and therapist who has read tons of Freudian theory. Her audiocassette From Anal, Oral and Back Again with a Sense of Humor is on bookstore shelves. Dr. Ifufall has been featured on A Current Affair, Joe Millionaire, and Good Day Detroit.

Deenie is progressing! But she’s a long way from her goal weight. In fact, the scale claims she’s gained weight. Time to cut back on some of those late-night seed binges.

With a picture of Audrey Hepburn for inspiration, Deenie swings into high gear, and as the pounds shed, what was once a thin layer of downy fur is fast becoming a beautiful coat of feathers.

Annette Ifufall returns for one last coaching session. It’s up to Deenie to decide which side of the V she’ll fly in, the shorter side or the longer side, and whether she’ll be in the middle or near the front. Annette reminds Deenie that mating season is in the summer, and Louis for now means Louis forever, or at least until he dies. After a few last words of wisdom about choosing a wetland with a sufficient breeding population and what to expect from post-hatch moulting, Annette is finally ready to release her charge.

Remember, Deenie has been in seclusion and hasn’t seen herself in seventy-six mentally and physically challenging hours. She’s received text messages from Louis, but she’s been unable to push the buttons to read them.

Time for the reveal!

Deenie weighed in at thirty-five pounds, a mere five pounds over her goal weight! It’s time for Deenie to have a look at her new self. She takes a deep breath. Host Ana urges her toward the mirror.

Deenie sees her gorgeous, white reflection.

“Is that me?” she thinks. She briefly wonders if it’s one of those fake mirrors that make you look like a swan. She looks at herself, and preens. She is thin, beautiful, and the most graceful creature on earth. She is sure when Louis sees her, they will mate for life. She marvels at her snowy white feathers, slender legs, and jet-black feet. Looking closely, she sees Dr. Schellbern’s added touch of a thin orange line on her lower bill. The workouts have had their desired effect: her eight-foot wingspan is toned and glistening and her neck is more beautiful than Audrey Hepburn’s.

Ana has one last surprise for Deenie: Louis is standing behind the curtain.

But wait, there’s more. In front of everyone, Louis gets down on one knee, places Deenie on his other knee and asks to marry her. The look on Deenie’s face tells you all you need to know: she now believes dreams really can come true.

Louis leans in to kiss Deenie, but surprised by his looming silhouette, she squeaks and bites his fleshy cheek. Clutching his bloody jowl, Louis shrugs it off, “She’s got cold feet — my mother and father fought like cats and dogs the day they got engaged.”

An Interview With Mr. Bluesman

By: Michael Fowler

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Interviewer: Good morning, Mr. Bluesman. If I could just say, those are some fine leathery old hands you have.

Mr. Bluesman: Dees hands be made for a geetar, or drinkin’ in a bar, heh heh heh!

Interviewer: I hear you, Mr. Bluesman. Now, Mr. Bluesman, I got a dog won’t hunt at all. I say, Mr. Bluesman, I got a dog won’t hunt at all.

Mr. Bluesman: You take that dog and get him on the ball. You know you take that dog and get him on the ball.

Interviewer: You’re right, Mr. Bluesman, that should prove helpful. But you see, Mr. Bluesman, times is gettin’ hard at home. Ain’t no doubt, Mr. Bluesman, times sure be gettin’ hard at home.

Mr. Bluesman: One and one is two, two and three is five, it always tough to stay alive. I say it always tough to stay alive.

Interviewer: You’re correct, Mr. Bluesman, that’s sound thinking. But the thing is, Mr. Bluesman, my woman she cold and mean. My woman she cold and mean too, Mr. Bluesman, what can I do?

Mr. Bluesman: What can you do? Buy a new pair of shoes. Shake dem blues with a new pair of shoes.

Interviewer: Merci, Mr. Bluesman, I can’t thank you enough. And thank you for talking with us today.

Les Miz: Spring Drama, Midland High School — Production Notes From The Director

By: T.W.

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Hi, gang!

Overall, things are going great! We’ve got a killer show on our hands this year! I know if we all pull together, we can make this a show to remember.

Just a few itty bitty notes…

COSTUME

Prostitutes: Let’s tone down the makeup a bit, ladies. Too over the top. You are just hookers on the street, not in a Christina Aguilera video.

ACTING

Javert: Keep up the good work! Oh, but can we get you to move a bit? I know you aren’t used to the lifts and last week’s mishap was unfortunate, but maybe you could wear them around school just to get used to them. (But please check with administration about the school insurance policy first.)

Eponine: Welcome back, my Broadway Baby! We missed you! And I want you to hold your head up high around school. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Rehab did wonders for you,darling!

Crowd: You are sooooooo important! Just because you don’t have speaking roles doesn’t mean you aren’t valuable members of our little troupe. You’ve got to get involved in the action on stage. No cell calls while on stage! I mean it!.

Student soldiers: Concentrate. No clicking of triggers unless you are actually fighting someone.

And remember — good soldiers do not put rifle barrels in their mouths.

Fantine: It’s your death scene. You don’t want a dry eye in the house when you finally come to your demise. Sell it, my dear! And lose the gum.

Mme. Thenardier: Remember, she wants everyone to think of her as high-falutin’ when actually she is just French white trailer trash. (No offense to our mobile home-living students — or our white or French-ancestry students, either, for that matter.) Sweetie, see if your parents will let you watch “The Anna Nicole Show.”

Valjean: You can be so good when you really set your mind to it! But what can I do to get you to stop giggling? And I must ask you to refrain from overt displays of affection with Cossette during breaks. Yes, I know in real life you two are dating, but in the play you are like adopted father and daughter and quite frankly, it’s freaking some of us out.

SCENERY

Way to go guys! I can almost smell the croissants! Your dedication to authenticity is an inspiration to us all — which brings up one small point. Standard fake stage blood (which we want) does not coagulate and turn brown. Some in the cast (who did quite well in biology mid-terms, I might add) are concerned that your desire to “keep it real” may have gone a bit too far. I’m not going to ask questions. Don’t ask, don’t tell. But please, boys, remember we are representing the entire school and we want to be on our best behavior. Yes, that includes you, Ernie. Geeks rock!

FINAL THOUGHTS

I’m excited! Are you excited?! Just think, a few weeks ago we hardly knew each other, and now we are a family!

And yes, families have squabbles but — and this is important — they stick together.

Now I know some in the community have voiced protest over our interracial casting of our young lovebirds Marius and Cossette, but I’m glad to say that the school board is standing behind us 100 percent.

Keep your fingers crossed, but there’s talk that even the fathers of our two actors…Mr. Khalid and Mr. Bronstein, may attend.

And please inform your family and friends that the tickets will be one dollar more than originally advertised. I’m told the additional funds will support the extra security.

Exit stage left,

Ms. McCorlicum

Roses Are Red, Or: The Terror In Our Topsoil

By: Helmut Luchs

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Man’s history is full of brutal killings, rapes and unimaginable tortures. He overflows with hate and envy and is afflicted with more psychotic disorders than you could spell with a Dr. Seuss alphabet. I’d say all in all he’s a pretty swell guy when you don’t get to know him.

Lately, however, I’ve become aware of the violence that surrounds us, which is perpetrated not by man, but by happy little animals, buzzing insects, and yes, even by those shy, reticent plants.

I recently learned that there are no less than 367 known species of carnivorous plants (isn’t Mother’s Day coming up?). I remind you that’s only the known species. God knows how many take a bite here, a nibble there, when you’re not looking.

I always knew that those common-as-dirt platitudes about plants living for nothing but water and sweet sunshine were a lot of fertilizer. They’re out for blood and raw meat. They’re the worst sorts of maniacs, so quiet and unassuming. Yet we’re lulled by their beauty and charming manners. We take them into our homes, provide them with shelter, water them, and even play music to stimulate their growth. I am now certain that the only reason they like music is because it covers up their wicked conversations about how they’d like to swim in pools of our blood.

Right now, as I sit here, the plants in this room are watching me, hungrily waiting for me to nod off. Good Lord, how evil they look when you know the truth! I can almost see them licking their thin plant-lips, and when I come near I can read their damp, pungent thoughts. They wish I would fall and crack my head open on their ceramic planters so that my vital fluids would drain into their miserable leafy clutches.

Some will argue that man is the only creature that kills for pleasure, while plants and animals kill only for food. But this is not so. Just look at the variety of plants that use poison as a means to your end. They are the Sidney Greenstreets of the plant world, the gentlemen killers, very refined, very discreet and very deadly. They don’t kill for food. To them, killing is a game of wits, and their victories (as they would call them) are tabulated and run up on a scoreboard. Of course, if you were to confront one of them with this, he would give a deep, hearty laugh and say, “Sir, you sorely misjudge me. I’m not a machine, you know. I take exquisite delight in holding the mysterious elixir of life in my tendrils. I kill with passion, I kill because I find it exhilarating, because it quickens my blood and electrifies my soul. I like best the face that is made when they first realize what has happened, and that it is too late. It is a peculiar face, almost comical, and one I suppose I shall never tire of seeing.”

It has been said, “the meek shall inherit the earth” (I believe I saw it on the back of a flower seed packet). I don’t know about you, but I intend to do my part to make sure that “the meek” don’t come in the form of green chlorophyll monstrosities. I’ve already taken a flamethrower to my neighborhood and if my petrol holds out, I’ll make it to yours soon. So what are you going to do, tree hugger? How much more will you take before you stand up and scream? I suggest you do so now. A loud, sudden noise frightens plants temporarily, and it may give you time for that last cigarette.

Notes from a Sensitive Grammarian

By: Michael Fowler

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As a man of flawless diction and grammar who is also hell-bent on improving the ordinary man’s spoken English, I submit a few grotesque howlers that a variety of people have addressed to me in the last few days. Frankly, the speakers quoted here made me feel ill, so sensitive am I to errant language. I then offer the corrected versions, or what the simpletons should have said, in hopes this will improve the lot of man and settle my stomach.

1.) “Get out of the car and put your hands over your head.”

Poor diction indeed, betraying the speaker as a ruffian and a barbarian. It is much better for the officer to say, “Sure you went through a red light and struck that old lady back there, but I’ll let you off with a warning this time.”

2.) “Who wants to see your shriveled old thing? Pull your pants up.”

Frankly embarrassing. One cringes to hear such English, even from a pretty young lady in the park on a Sunday morning. Of course, it should be, “Let’s play Hide Mister Mole.”

3.) “Hey, man, can I borrow ten bucks till payday?”

Completely uncivil and showing a total disregard for the niceties of language. The correct wording is, “Hey, man, here’s that ten bucks I borrowed from you last week, and another ten for being there when I needed you.”

4.) “Your account is overdrawn. I’ll have to apply a service charge to your next deposit.”

Reprehensible in an otherwise sophisticated and well-trained teller. Proper is, “Would you like free checking?”

5.) “I’m afraid your car needs a lot of expensive work.”

Note how changing just a few words can render this faulty sentence correct, to wit, “Your car needs a small amount of inexpensive work.” Or even better, “Your car is okay.”

6.) “We’ll know more after the biopsy.”

Physicians are highly educated people, but even they can lapse into elementary blunders that lead to misunderstandings and, possibly, malpractice suits. Here the doctor should say, “It’s just a wart.”

7.) “I know I should have mentioned it earlier, but I have herpes.”

Sad to say, but one hears this infuriatingly faulty expression more and more these days. As we all should know by now, correct is, “I have a cramp.”

8.) “You’re not built very big.”

As bedroom talk, this leaves a lot to be desired. Is it really more difficult to say the correct “What a monster!”?

9.) “I feel like going to the opera tonight.”

Hideous, showing that, in women, beauty and good grammar do not always accompany each other. The lady should say, “Let’s go see female spaghetti wrestlers tonight.” Some grammarians, it is true, prefer “Let’s go to a tractor-pull tonight”; however, either is correct.

10.) “I have a gun. Hand over your wallet.”

Even a second grader should know what’s wrong here, although I doubt the man who said it to me had even that much education. He should simply have said, “I’ll work for food,” which is less cumbersome and safer in mixed company.

11.) “I done brought my Playboy Bunny sister over here to meet up with you on account of she thinks you is cute.”

Impeccable. Keep up the good work.

Again, these are just a few of the phrases, most of them appalling in their formulation, that have recently come my way. Be careful to avoid the first ten, and let others know how inappropriate they are. That way we will all work together for a grammatically correct world, which is the only kind of world I feel okay in.